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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725527">Mors Magicae</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Magic, Brendon Urie Being an Asshole, Fluff, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Magic, Necromancy, No Smut, POV First Person, Time Travel, mikey's dead oops</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:22:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,484</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard Way is a teenage necromancer. Yes, he knows that 'Gerard the Necromancer' doesn't exactly sound very threatening, but he's got to stick with it for now. He doesn't have much of a social life (apart from his annoying dead brother who just won't leave him alone), he doesn't have much money, but the one thing he DOES have is a remarkable skill for necromancy. Oh, and a scholarship for the most prestigious school of magic in the country, Odiosis Academy. </p><p>Throw in an unfortunate dorm arrangement, a mysterious pyromancer, some sentient stationary and more than a couple of ghosts, and what do you get? </p><p>A disaster. A massive disaster.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero/Gerard Way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Introduction: A Beginner's Guide to Necromancy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I was about thirteen, I think, when I first discovered necromancy and the Dark Arts. It was an optional course at school which no-one took - I think that must have been because they were scared of it. I don’t blame them, to be honest, what with all the hype at school around that one kid who accidentally reanimated the old janitor (but that’s a story for another time). </p><p>I regret taking that course, even now. At this exact moment. When I’m fighting for my life against an army of undead zombies which I may or may not have helped create. Oh, and my brother's here too. Because apparently he won’t stay dead, no matter how many times I try to tell him. </p><p>My house is overrun with zombies. They’re climbing out of the upstairs windows, bursting through the petunias on the front lawn, smashing the statues of various gods and monsters I paid so much money for. One of them’s trying to climb up my leg - he’s only a baby one, bless him, a dog with matted fur, rotting eyes and a dirt-covered collar. I bash him over the head with my staff and he falls backwards onto the road, legs sticking up in the air. </p><p>Job well done. </p><p>I know it’s a pretty bad choice to live next to a graveyard, being a necromancer and all, but the rent is cheap and the neighbors don’t really care when magic overflows and brings back their dead loved ones in sometimes monstrous ways. They’re used to it by now, I think, and sometimes they just have a lovely cup of tea with the zombies and catch them up on the day to day happenings of their lives and deaths. It’s still rather inconvenient, though. It always takes the whole day to get all the undead back into their graves, and even then, there’s always some of them just hanging around afterwards. </p><p>The course on necromancy at school was pretty basic, to be honest. The only other person there was this weird kid who sat at the back of the class and played with his lighter all day. The teachers had given up on telling him it was a fire hazard a while ago, because when they did he would just glare at them and start flicking the lighter on and off faster. Pretty sure he was a pyromaniac. And an 'edgy' MySpace kid. </p><p>Anyway. </p><p>The only things they taught us two in the class were how to focus your energy (every kindergartener could do that already, so that was pretty useless) and how to draw sigils for specific necromancy spells. I picked that up really quick, and then I just kinda… quit the class. It was boring, and the other kid scared me. After that, I took up studying privately and got the hang of a few basic spells. My mom said I had a real knack for it, and I silently agreed with her - it was so much easier than elemental magic for me, and a lot less tiring than healing or combat magic. It did mean that the other kids at school were scared of me, the weirdo who talked to dead people and played with dead cats behind Main Block (don’t ask). I didn’t mind it at first, but then my own friends left and soon enough it was just me. Alone. </p><p>That was about three years ago, and now I’m a sixteen year old necromancer with a house of my own and a scholarship to one of the most prestigious schools of magic in the<br/>
country that starts in about a week. And also, I’m fighting zombies. Which is always fun. </p><p>People laugh when I tell them I’m a necromancer. I’m like, “Hi, I’m Gerard, I’m sixteen, I’m a necromancer,” and then they’re always like “Gerard the necromancer? Really?”, like it’s my fault all the famous necromancers have really cool names like Azeroth the Dastardly and Carrion Sedlak and whatever. And then they usually tell me “Have you thought about changing your name?” and then I laugh, because yes bitch well done, that’s a genius idea, I would never have thought of that, apart from the fact that I’ve already changed my name once and I really can’t be arsed to do it again. I was a massive idiot in middle school when I chose my new name, and now I have to stick with a stupid old-man name for the rest of my life. </p><p>“You’re an idiot.” </p><p>“Yes, I know,” I snap at the ghost standing behind me. “And you’re dead. You can’t say much - I’m cleverer than you.” </p><p>“Liar,” the ghost sniffs as I punch Mrs McCafferty’s husband in the face before shooting a stream of energy behind her at the cat. “I always scored higher than you in tests, and I’m not the one who just brought an entire graveyard back to life, am I?” </p><p>“I mean - wisdom, not intelligence. I’m more wisdomous than you are. Bitch.” </p><p>“That’s not a word.” </p><p>I turn to look at him and roll my eyes. “It can be if I want it to be. Now out of my way, or I’m going through you. There’s Mx Bingley behind you, and they can be a real pain to get out of the way if I don’t get them quick.” </p><p>“Whatever.” My brother sighs before disappearing, revealing the rotting figure stumbling across the road towards me. I fire a quick bolt of darkness from my staff and they fall to the ground instantly. </p><p>Yes, that ghost is my brother. He’s very annoying and he won’t ever leave me alone, which sucks big time (especially when no-one else can see him and it looks like I’m a crazy person talking to myself the whole time). He died a couple years ago, about a year after I started learning necromancy, and he just stuck around to annoy me. Every time I get the chance, I rub it in his face that I survived longer than him, and every time, he retaliates by telling me that it was my fault he died. Which is very nasty and not true at all, just saying. </p><p>My brother’s name is Mikey, and he’s the most douchey person on this Earth. He’s a couple years older than me, and was training to join the order of Pyromancers when he died in - guess what? A fire. Well done, my dude. Very clever. He actually went to the school I’m going to start at soon - Odiosis Academy, the ‘Boring School’. It’s a massive misnomer to discourage all the people who aren’t going to commit fully to the school, and so far it’s worked (no students have transferred or left Odiosis since it started up a couple decades ago). Anyway, Mikey was the douchiest person in his year, but ended up being the most popular before he died, which is kinda weird. I guess that’s how school hierarchy works, though, isn’t it? The nice people aren’t noticed, and the boring douchey ones are the most popular. It’s not fair, I don’t think, but I guess I can’t change it. </p><p>“Watch it!” Mikey says, pointing behind me. I turn to see half of a body crawling along the floor towards me, and kick its head in immediately. </p><p>“Thanks, I guess.” </p><p>“You owe me your life now. Twice.” </p><p>“Arse.” </p><p>He just grins at me. </p><p>Ugh. </p><p>“Miss Petunia! Miss - please stay inside!” I shout. Miss Petunia, the old retired healer who lives next door to me, is hobbling across the road. She’s a really nice person, and has some amazing stories about the magical maladies career path she went down. And since our disciplines overlap slightly, she’s been able to give me some pointers on spells and rituals since I’ve been living here. “Miss Petunia!” </p><p>“What? Oh, Gerard dear! Don’t mind me, don’t mind me at all… have you seen Wilbur around here anywhere?” she croaks back fraily, bent double over her walking stick. “I just wanted to have a quick cuppa with him before he goes back down…” </p><p>“I…” </p><p>Mikey whistles at me and points to a body on the floor by his leg. Wilbur. </p><p>Goddamnit. </p><p>“I’m so sorry, Miss, but Wilbur’s already gone home,” I say as I bash yet another dead cat with my staff. “Maybe you two can talk next time? But for now, please stay inside - it’s going to take a while to get these guys home again.” </p><p>“Oh, of course dear. I’m sorry for disturbing you.” She smiles at me, the corners of her eyes crinkling up, before turning on her heel and heading back to her door. </p><p>Thank God. </p><p>“How much longer are you gonna take?” Mikey whines. “I’m hungry.” </p><p>“You’re dead. You can’t be hungry, and you can’t eat.”</p><p>“But I like the smell of food. Can we go to the chippy once this is done?” </p><p>I punch a rabbit in the face and raise an eyebrow at him. “No. Because I have to get stuff for Odiosis.” </p><p>“Odiosis shmodiosis. Screw that.” </p><p>“I don’t want to get expelled!” </p><p>“Expelled? For not having a pen? Dude, you’re overthinking it. Let’s go get chips.” </p><p>I turn to face him head on. “No.” </p><p>--- </p><p>An hour later, I’m standing at the counter of the fish and chips shop. </p><p>“I hate you,” I whisper to Mikey. He grins. </p><p>“I know. I hate you too.” </p><p>Well, at least we can agree on something. </p><p>“What can I get you?” the lady behind the counter says. I scan the menu, and then turn to Mikey. He shrugs. </p><p>“Uh… can I get… um…” </p><p>“Hurry up! There are other customers too, you know.” </p><p>“Just a regular one, please,” I say hurriedly. She sniffs and nods her head at the sign taped to the wall - “Demand too high for regular”. </p><p>“Well, then - then I’ll have - nothing, thank you.” </p><p>“Quit wasting my time and get out of here!” </p><p>I roll my eyes as I walk out into the cold September air. Mikey floats down in front of me and - heaven help us - starts yelling at me. “WHY DIDN’T YOU GET ANY, YOU IDIOT? WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO -” </p><p>I tune him out and start walking down the high street towards the magical supplies shop, leaving him screeching behind me. Of course, he’ll be pulled towards me soon enough, but what can I say? You gotta enjoy the little things in life while you can get them. </p><p>You really do.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. He's a Douche, Sorry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>~ six days later ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am not a pyromaniac. I’m a pyromancer. There’s a difference.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I snort into my cornflakes. “Dude, you’re a pyromaniac - you would marry fire if you could, and I bet you’ve burned at least one house down in your time. You are a pyromaniac, end of.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever.” Mikey rolls his eyes from the doorway. “I could leave right now, you know, and then you'd have no friends.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care. New school, new life, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like anyone’s gonna want to be friends with the necromancer. Believe me, I’ve been there - you lot are the weirdo outcasts of the bunch. You aren’t gonna get to be the most sociable at school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… well, no change there then.” I finish my cereal and go to put it in the sink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My house is pretty cluttered, to say the least. I never really got round to unpacking everything properly, so there are boxes of stuff everywhere still. I still sleep on the floor - I mean, today’s my last day here, and I really can’t be bothered to start cleaning up now, can I? I’ve only had a proper place of my own since last year, anyway - when I (whoops) ran away from my parents. There’s a reason for that, but I really can’t be bothered to explain it right now, so let’s just leave it at that, shall we? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re really hoping this’ll go well, aren’t you? Well, sorry, but I got news for you: school sucks, no matter who you are. If you’re smart, you have no friends - if you’re popular, you have bad grades. If your daddy’s rich, you have fake friends, if you’re a class clown, chances are you’re really sad inside, if you’re a teacher’s pet, everyone hates you, and if you’re a loner, then… well, you’re alone. And that sucks. Really, Gee, why are you going to this school? Take it from me - I’ve done this before. It sucks, all of it. Every aspect of it. And you’re gonna regret going. You’re better off just staying here, under the radar. Maybe you should apply to join the army instead of going to school. Maybe you should just go back to mom and dad -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I cut Mikey off suddenly, letting my spoon clatter to the bottom of the sink. "No," I say quietly. "I'm not going back to them. Okay? I can take whatever else you were saying, cause it's really boring and doesn't actually matter, but never, </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>tell me to go back to mom and dad. That's the whole point of me going to Odiosis. No more mom and dad, no more being watched over at every moment, no more - you know. No more. Okay?" I turn back to him and raise an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh - sorry,” he says. His eyes keep darting from me to the knife in the sink. "I wasn't thinking. I should never - </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>have - I’m sorry -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take a deep breath and walk away from the kitchen, back into the meagre 'dining room', if you can even call it that. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have overreacted like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey - no, you have every right to -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. I shouldn’t go to this school. I’ll just fail and have no friends anyway, like usual. I don’t need to go. I can just get a boring job and leave magic behind, right? That’s what you were telling me to do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey‘s face softens, and he steps back away from the doorframe so he’s standing in the hall. “Dude. I’m sorry I said all that stuff. I was just scared that you would have the same experience I did. But you’re better than me, in pretty much every way, and I know you’ll be fine. Even if necromancers are losers.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a loser. I can make zombies,” I sniff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can indeed. You can indeed…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then I feel the ghost of a hug around my shoulders, and I remember that maybe Mikey isn’t the biggest douche in the world. I think I may have been exaggerating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also, you look pretty badass in those clothes. Just saying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m wearing the traditional necromancer robes that I had to get tailor-made for school. All the different disciplines have to have different types of robes, just so that the teachers can know if what we’re doing is actually part of training or not. (Eg, me digging up a dead cat, or a pyromancer starting a fire in the courtyard, or an electrokinesis trainee being down in the boiler room). Mine are long and black and swishy, and they smell of old dogs (probably because I had to perform a ritual that went… a little wrong the other day with Old Mrs Hague’s dead dog Jazzy). The edge is bronze, and there’s one stud on the collar which shows I’m a first year. Bonus: there’s a really big hood that I can hide my face under, just so I don’t scare any small children or anything. And I gotta admit, I do look pretty damn amazing in them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t wrong,” I say quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, how long we got before you need to go? When does the train leave?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um…” I check my watch. “About… three and a half minutes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit!” he yells. “You idiot! Why did you just have to - to take so long eating your fucking cornflakes! We could be there by now, you know - you loser.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, at least that’s normal. “Sorry,” I say quickly, grabbing my suitcase from the door. Washing up can wait another year - it’s fine. “Maybe I can shadowwalk there? It’s pretty quick.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do whatever, I don’t care! Don’t be late, though - everyone’s judging you, remember?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee, thanks for the encouragement.” I look in the mirror on the wall really quickly, adjusting my hair a bit and flattening my collar, before putting the suitcase down by my side and pulling a piece of chalk from my pocket. “Get in the circle, you douche, or else you’re gonna get stranded here for eleven months.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, whatever.” He floats over to my side as I draw a large circle on the stone floor around us. “How’s this work, anyway?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how it works, dumbass. You’ve seen me do it so many times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I never asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> you do it before, have I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh as I start to draw crosses at points around the circle. “Fine. Well, since I’m a necromancer, I can control dark energy - energy you might know as the souls of the dead, for example -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bo-ring! Hurry up and get to the good part.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting there, I’m getting there! You were the one who asked, anyway, so it’s your fault. The energy manifests itself in many ways, like the shadow bolts I fire from my staff. It comes from another plane of existence known only as the Tenth Realm, a dimension where all concepts of time and space are twisted out of proportion and where all necromancers’ power comes from. When I shadowwalk, I draw a sigil in order to make that energy and power flow between dimensions, taking us with it. By traveling between dimensions, we can get places a lot quicker than usual - almost instantly.” I finish drawing the sigil and stand back, Mikey by my side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooooh. So it’s like Nightcrawler?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… yeah, actually. I never… yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still boring, but a bit less boring, you know? Since X-Men are involved.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, I guess. You ready?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steels himself (shadowwalking can sometimes cause nausea and head pains in weaker individuals, like my brother) and nods. “Yup.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take one last look at my house, the house I only managed to buy by scraping money from sidewalks and working seven jobs at once, before shutting my eyes and pulling my hands across one another. I smell the sudden metallic tang of the Tenth Realm only for a second before we’re both pulled into it mercilessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>--- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit. I’m gonna hurl.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t. You’re a ghost, and ghosts can’t hurl. Get a grip, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am most definitely going to chuck my guts up into this bush,” Mikey announces, bent double over a half-dead scrub on the edge of a tiny patch of trees. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span> if I’m dead - I bet I can just, like, throw up ectoplasm or something. Ghosts do that, ri - oh shit -” He doubles over further and starts making dry, retching noises. I wrinkle my nose in disgust and start walking away from the trees and towards the structure on the hill in the distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pull yourself together, dude - you’re the one who was worried about being late!” I call back behind me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, whatever. I’m coming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All I can see around me are trees as I start walking up the wooded path to the train station. A thick mass of dark green surrounds me on all sides, bustling with chirping and squawking. The gate to the station is… unusual, to what you might know a station to be at least, from what I can gather from the instructions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait up,” Mikey calls from behind me. “I - do you know where you’re going?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duh. There’s only one path around here, dude.” I roll my eyes silently and keep going through the trees as he floats up behind me. “And, unless I’m sorely mistaken, it’s the one I’m on." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just checking. Cause that’s not the traingate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, is he right? I didn’t really read the instructions all that carefully… I pull the sheet out of my pocket and look at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a surprise I didn’t read the instructions properly. All there is on the paper is a drawing of the structure up ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Asshole. This is the right way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, if you say so,” he calls as I start walking again. “Not like I’m the one who… oh, god, who am I kidding? Fine, I’m coming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he floats up behind me as I reach the strange stone structure.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I Like Trains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Uh… isn’t there supposed to be a train here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey floats past me and rolls his eyes. “No, you idiot. Weren’t you listening to anything I said?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.” I put my bags down on the floor next to me and sit on them. “I think I’m in the wrong place. Whoops.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, this is it, I swear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stone statue in front of me doesn’t look anything like a train station. Like, at all. If this is a train station, then I’m an armadillo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing I can see in front of me is a statue of a weeping lady with water dripping down her face, back into the basin she’s standing in. Her hands are clasped over her mouth and she’s staring up at the clear cold sky in some sort of agonising torment. No matter what this lady’s story is, there’s only really one thing that matters at this very moment, and it’s the fact that she is not a train. And I need her to be a train. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude. Where’d I go wrong?” I moan, putting my head in my hands. “I’m gonna be sooo late right now…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just rub the crying lady’s foot, bro. Then you’ll be at the station. She’s a portal, you know?” Mikey leans on the statue and grins proudly as I look up again, wiping my face. “Sure, it does make you feel a bit sick once you’ve gone through, but it’s fine - you better hurry up, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel like Harry bloody Potter</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone feels like Harry Potter these days, though. Ever since the - well, what people had started calling the Big Bang. The event on a cosmic scale that brought a whole new way of life to the residents of this lovely little blue planet we call home, the event that shook everything and everyone we thought we knew, and the event that brought the best-worst thing to ever happen to humanity, a thing only talked about and heard in whispered rumours: magic. After that, we were all Harry Potter (not that I can remember much about it - I wasn’t even born yet) and the world was like Hogwarts. But with a lot more murder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, that was a stupid attempt to throw in some backstory. Sorry, reader. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, doofus, you’re gonna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>late</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Mikey yells again. “Stop thinking and start hurrying up!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” I mutter, standing up and grabbing my bag from the floor. The bottom of it’s covered in damp, wet grass and mud, which sucks big-time, but hey ho - at least the stuff inside is safe and clean. Can’t let my staff get wet - drains out the magic, you know? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walk over to the lady statue and stare up at her cracked features, Mikey hovering next to me. “She looks pretty damn sad. Any reason she’s here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… well, you should ask Mr Toro. He knows all about the lore and statues and whatever around Odiosis - he’s super boring, though, so you better have an excuse ready to leave as soon as you get what you want. I think it’s something to do with the founders -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, shut up.” I raise an eyebrow at the mossy toe in front of me. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if this portal takes me all the way to Mexico or somewhere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the right place, trust me, and hurry up! Seriously, dude - it's getting late.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay. Okay, we can do this. We can do this. Just rub the foot. Rub the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>foot</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Wait, that sounds kinda weird. Whatever. Gotta do this. Gotta get to school. Gotta get the job done. Gotta start a new nation, gotta meet my son - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now is not the time, Gerard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take a deep breath and stick my hand out to touch the foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>--- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIT!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as my skin makes contact with the smooth stone of the statue, I feel myself get pulled off my feet. I kind of expected using a portal to be a bit like shadowwalking - they’re the same basic principle, to be honest - but if it was I wouldn’t be so… well, screamy. This is nothing like shadowwalking. I’m going to vomit. Everything hurts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like… well, the best way to describe it would be to say: imagine you’re in a massive freezer. Then think of the walls getting closer together until you’re freezing, hyperventilating, panicking and getting squeezed all at the same time. And then take all of those feelings and make them a million times stronger, and a million times more uncomfortable, and a million times basically just worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there you have it, my friend: the miracle of teleportation! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t dare to open my eyes, same as when I’m shadowwalking. When I was a relatively new necromancer, I made the mistake of having a sneak peek of the Tenth Realm as I was shaddowwalking. What I saw was… well, horrors beyond your imagination. I’m expecting this to be pretty much the same, so for now I keep my eyes tight shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like an eternity before the squeezing, freezing, panicking feeling stops, but I know in reality it was less than a few seconds. I keep my eyes shut for a few seconds more, scared that if I open them, then the horrors I saw long ago would somehow come back to haunt me now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Welp, I guess teleportation makes you more poetic, too. Who would have known? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am most definitely going to hurl,” I announce blindly, not really caring who might be able to see me. I know it’s worked - the soft, chirping sounds of the stone lady clearing have subsided, replaced with a busyness you might expect to hear at King’s Cross or Paddington or suchlike. (Those are train stations in Britain, as far as I can tell.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! That’s how </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel every time you shadowwalk, dumbass!” I hear Mikey crow in the background. His voice is distorted behind the ringing of my ears, and I double over bindly, still not daring to open my eyes and see where I ended up. “Welcome to my world.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No - ugh, ew.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, as suddenly as the nausea came on, it subsides, taking the ringing of my ears with it. My legs feel like they can support me again, and I don’t want to puke my guts up anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah… weird.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, you can open your eyes now. You look like a total weirdo, talking to yourself with your eyes shut. And you have puke on your robes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Without even thinking, I open my eyes and scrape frantically at my robes, not knowing where the puke in question is and just wanting to get it off. I don’t see any, though, and my initial panic fades as I stare at Mikey, unimpressed. “Idiot. How come you came with me through the portal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m technically still a student here, so I still have my student pass.” He flashes it proudly from within his scorched robes. “Even though I’m dead. You know, being dead does have it’s advantages sometimes - like, you can judge other people without them judging you back, and you get in places for free -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, shut up.” I wave a hand absent-mindedly in the direction of his voice as I stare in wonder at the place - no, more like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>world</span>
  </em>
  <span> - around me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m in some sort of stone courtyard in the centre of what seems to be a shopping mall - stores and buildings rise high above my head, and I can see escalators leading down below as well. The air is filled with chatter and laughter and the smell of coffee (I’m jealous. And thirsty.), but that’s not the thing which amazes me most. What amazes me most are the </span>
  <em>
    <span>people.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There are people literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Magic users of all different robes - pyromancers, healers, druids, music magicians (or bards, but they don’t lek to be called that because of this really old game and the weird stereotype that all bards are horny bastards who wanna fuck everything that moves. Not that I’ve met many ‘music magicians, I mean, but the ones I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>met are, to be quite honest, pretty… you know.. stereotypical), demon summoners, elementals, combatants, seers, warlocks…even a few other black-robes necromancers like me! - all walking around, doing whatever they need to do, all in harmony (and none of them taking any notice of me, thank god), and most of them heading towards - well, the biggest train I’ve ever seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The massive blue leviathan of a train looms up above me, twice as big as anything I might have expected. I can see people boarding from every door available, shoving one another out of the way to try and get through to the best seats and the biggest compartments. My jaw drops at the sheer scale of it, and the thought of how much it would have cost. Sure, Odiosis is the best school in the country, but most of the people sent here get a scholarship sent to them, and don't pay - like me, and how I got one in the post a couple months ago. How are they able to afford all this - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dude. Dude! Come on! You gotta hurry!" Mikey waves a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of the trance I was in. "You need to get on the train as quick as possible, so you don't get stuck in the compartment no one else wants to be in with the weirdo kids." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>a weirdo kid," I sniff, feet still stuck to the floor in wonder. "But fine, okay, I'm -" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don't even bother finishing my sentence, and just start running towards the massive train, dodging between the other magicians and sorcerers on the way, my bag bouncing at my feet. My boarding pass for the train is in my pocket, my directions and instructions are clutched in my hand, and finally, I might be able to live my own life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait up, fuckface!” Mikey yells from behind me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On second thought… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh and slow down a bit. God, he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>fly</span>
  </em>
  <span>! How slow does he have to be? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Compartment Sixteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The train looms up closer to me as I reach the edge of the station. Mikey’s painting behind me for some reason (he’s a ghost, ghosts don’t get tired. Yet still he manages it. Somehow. Ugh.) and there’s a slow-moving crowd of students heading towards the many train entrances. After the Big Bang, the government decided that they would screw with the age requirements for schools and stuff, so now there’s no high school like it used to be, there’s just a starter school (age five to twelve), a prep school (age twelve to fifteen) and a ‘high school’, which some idiot decided to make compulsory for all magic-users from the ages of sixteen to twenty. So yeah, that’s fun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I try to struggle through the crowd and get to the train, I spot a few familiar flashes of black-and-copper robes in the midst of the swarm of people, and a wash of relief falls over me. At least I won’t be the only necromancer at this school - in prep school, it was just me, and believe me: it wasn’t fun. I was a loner (not that I’m less of one now, but - you know what I mean. Right?), and not by choice like the ‘EdGy’ kids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh as yet another red-clad pyromancer barges into me. In my experience, pyromancers are self-centred, hotheaded, reckless people. That can be good, if it’s used in the right way, but it can also be… well, Mikey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speak of the devil… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, over here!” I hear Mikey yell from over the crowd. Looking up, I spot him hovering above the mass of people and pointing to a tiny opening in the wall of students. “This way! Pretty sure this compartment’s free!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks!” I call back, and start changing direction to barge my way towards the train. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And finally - </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> - I manage to reach the train doors and stumble inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hi…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… I thought it was empty,” Mikey muses. “Sorry. There usually isn’t a lot of space at the best of times, and the start of the year is always the busiest. Guess you’ll just have to stick with those guys for now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I don't </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to!” I spit back at him. Then I realise that A, the other person in the compartment can’t see Mikey, and B, I must already look like an absolutely incompetent weirdo and talking to thin air is only going to cement my standing in the bottom of this weird sort of hierarchy. “Uh, sorry. Ghosts, you know?” I wave my hands apologetically, but only succeed in making it weirder. Told you I wasn’t good at people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you - I mean, are you gonna sit in this compartment?” the other inhabitant asks. A boy, I think, and he looks about my age. Masses of hair puffing around his face, and dark green robes that mean that he is, in fact, a seer. I see his hand resting lightly on what looks like a block of wood, but what I know really is a compacted mace. “It’s fine if you are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should say no,” Mikey advises. “This guy looks weird, and you don’t want to be seen hanging out with a weirdo on your very first day. It sets you back for life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - uh -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just say that this is the wrong compartment, you’re very sorry, and then just walk back out -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cacophony of noise cuts him off, and I nearly jump out of my skin as I turn around, watching the train door slam shut all of a sudden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I guess I’ll stick with you, then.” I shrug. Mikey facepalms in the background. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, uh, what’s your name?” the seer asks as I walk over to the other side of the compartment. There’s really not much space in the room - just enough to move about without knocking into the other guy. The early sunlight streams in through the see-through doors that just closed, and the noises of laughter and conversation echo in from the corridor running through the whole train. I swing my bag onto the rack above the main seating area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Gerard.” I smile awkwardly. “Nice to meet you. Are you a first year too?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ray, nice to meet you too. And yeah, I’m a first year. Seer, you know?” Ray sticks his hand out for me to shake and I take it gingerly. “And I take it you’re a necromancer, what with all the ghosts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” I say as I stare out into the corridor. “Do you have any idea what to do? Do we just wait here, or…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think there’s a teacher that’ll come along and tell us what we have to do soon. My dad works here, and he gave me some of the basics I might need for the first day.” He thinks for a second as I sit down opposite him. “Oh, and there’s a snack trolley coming along, too. Do you have money?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Money. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly… I’m here on a scholarship, sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine… how about lunch? I mean, do you have any?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I.. forgot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Idiot,” MIkey says from the ceiling. “I told you to bring lunch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you didn’t!” I say without thinking. Then I realise Ray’s still watching me. “Sorry. Dead brother on the ceiling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s fine. I feel you. Time gets all messed up sometimes for me, and I end up talking to people who aren’t there yet, or seeing stuff that happened ages ago like it’s now. People look at me weird too. It’s fine, dude, I won’t judge.” He smiles at me, and not awkwardly this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weirdo,” Mikey sniffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” And I think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ray might actually be a nice person. And I hope Mikey’s wrong about how school goes, and the hierarchy and stuff. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“So -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“SHIIIIIIIIIIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT LET ME IN GUYS PLEASE!” someone yells from the corridor. I look up immediately and see a kid, his face pressed up against the glass, yelling at us. “HELLO?! LET ME IN!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Frank, calm down,” Ray sighs. “It’s only Urie and his goons, They’ll back off soon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BUT LET ME IIIIIN I HAVE NOWHERE TO GOOOOOO -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, whatever.” Ray stands up and goes to open the door. The kid falls through, flopping forward so he’s sprawled out onto the carpet. “But you really should have been in a compartment earlier. It’s bad manners, you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever, thanks for nothing, and thanks for keeping me outside.” The kid wipes his nose as he stands up, and his eyes catch mine. “Who’s that guy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Gerard. Gerard, this is Frank. He went to the same prep school as me. And Gerard just kinda walked in, I dunno.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hi, I guess.” Frank holds a hand out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s hot,” Mikey calls from behind me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” I hiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I go bright red. “Sorry - not you - I mean, I wasn’t telling you to shut up, I was telling my dead brother - wait -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re a necromancer. S’fine, dude, I get it.” He smiles and shows all his teeth, unnerving me a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. Thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit. That was the wrong thing to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, it wasn’t. You should always thank me, dude.” Frank slings his bag onto the rack above Ray’s head and looks back at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, I didn’t say that out loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a telepath, dude. Can’t really filter between thoughts and voices yet, sorry. So don’t think of anything weird. Like - well, like anything weird.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of course, my mind immediately goes to the time I saw my starter school teacher in Speedos at swimming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’d I say?! That’s nasty, ew. I need some mind bleach.” Frank flops down next to Ray and pulls a brown paper pachet out of his pocket. “YOOOO! I GOT SWEEEEETS!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Should I sit down? Should I stand up? Should I squat awkwardly in the middle of the floor like I seem to be doing now? I think I should probably sit down. Yeah, that would be a good idea. I untangle myself from the squat (I literally have no recollection of getting into this position, but hey ho) and perch awkwardly next to Ray. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yo Ray, want a sweet?” Frank leans over and offers Ray a purple gummy swirling with some sort of strange silver light. “These are my faves.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, what is it?” Ray asks cautiously, a look of faint disgust etched across his features. “Looks… unsafe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chill out, Mom, it’s just a sweet. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sooooo gooooood </span>
  </em>
  <span>though. You have to try it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray stills looks apprehensive, so I do perhaps the only brave thing I’ve ever done in my life and ask Frank, “Hey, can I try one?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure! See, Ray, </span>
  <em>
    <span>new kid</span>
  </em>
  <span> is brave, and you’re just my mom.” Frank sniffs, but then grins at me and hands me the purple sweet. “I bet you’re gonna like it. You better like it. Or I’m not friends with you anymore. Not that I was friends with you to start with. Cause we only just met. But we won’t ever be friends if you don’t like this sweet. It’s amazing. It’s good food. It’s ambrosia and nectar. Eat it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grimace at the sweet. Now it’s in my hand, it feels slightly warm and very sticky. Ew. But then again, Frank looks like a puppy right now, and I don’t want to ruin my chances with a possible friend, so I close my eyes and throw the thing in my mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Wow,” I manage to choke out in between chews. “That’s… honestly? That’s absolutely vile, dude. Ew.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yep, it tastes like dog shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, right?” he laughs, chucking like seven more in his mouth from the bag. “It’s meant to taste horrid. It’s a test I use to see if peeps are trustworthy or lying or whatever, cause if they don’t tell me what they actually think of the sweet, then I know they can’t be trusted. Clever, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh - yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a liar,” Mikey whispers from beside me. “He actually loves them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I guessed.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Trolley Woman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Trolley lady alert,” Ray says suddenly, not looking up from his phone. “Pretend you’re really bored.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t have to pretend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rude, much?” Frank sniffs. “I happen to think my company is actually rather enjoyable, to be honest. And not boring.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, you don’t have to deal with a dead brother singing anime theme songs at the top of his lungs floating on the ceiling,” I snap back. “And, once again, Mikey, would you </span>
  <em>
    <span>please shut up?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“THE DAY HAS COME!” Mikey cries even louder. I plug my ears and groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also, not to be rude, but -” Frank begins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock at the window cuts him off, and I go to open the compartment door. A haggard old face stares back at me, all sunken eyes and yellowed teeth and sagging wrinkles. The trolley woman has a red bow attached to straggling hair strands and a creaking, squeaking trolley on wheels that she pushes in front of her, loaded up with sweets of every colour imaginable. “Alright, lads,” she says, leaving the trolley outside and walking into our compartment without even asking, “are you all first years?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gulp and stay silent. Frank does the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Miss,” Ray says quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So y’all’ll be wanting to know what to do, hmm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ray says again. The trolley woman huffs and puffs a straggling hair out of her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you do… well, it’s pretty easy, to be honest. Just stay here until the whistle blows from up front, and get your robes on. Yes, you, scraggy,” she says pointedly, glaring at Frank (who’s in normal clothes - just a t-shirt and jeans). He sticks his tongue out at her. “Oi! Anyway. Once the whistle blows, another member of staff’ll be along, and from then on, you’re their responsibility. I’ll assume it’s Mr Toro, judging by… well.” She raises an eyebrow at Ray. “His son.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God no,” Ray groans. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, he’s Mr Toro’s son? Huh. Weird. Didn’t Mikey say something about that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Either way, whoever it is will take you to the school itself, and then you'll be able to get settled into your dormitories and divisions." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, without another word, the trolley woman leaves again and goes back to pushing her trolley up and down the corridor as the train… wait. It hasn't even started moving yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, she's moderately terrifying," Frank announces. "Gerard, ask your dead brother if we have to see her again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah, thank God," Mikey sighs from the ceiling. "That's the only time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He says no." I sigh with relief - for some reason, that woman was inexplicably scary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, that's what I was gonna say - Gerard?" Frank asks me. I cock my head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How come you narrate your whole life like it's a storybook in your head?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think for a second. Do I do that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. You really do." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Quit doing that!" I cry. "Look, if I want you to answer me, I'll say it out loud. Don't go snooping around my brain thoughts."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't help it! I'm not very good at knowing the difference between thoughts and words, I already told you." He glares at me and slumps down behind Ray. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The compartment falls silent for the next few minutes as Ray's still on his phone. Frank starts making raspberry noises at the ceiling, I try to relax a bit (I'm hella stressed, for some reason), and Mikey keeps on singing anime songs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will he ever shut up? Nah, probably not. Ugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, uh, where are you guys from?" I ask, trying to start a conversation that isn't too awkward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't ask Frank that," Ray says suddenly. "That's a bad idea. That's a very bad idea." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wh -" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"ONLY THE BEST PLACE IN THE WHOLE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA AND POSSIBLE THE ENTIRE WORLD!" Frank crows, jumping up on the train seats to stand triumphantly above us all. "BELLEVILLE, NEW JERSEY, BABY!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Same here," Ray sighs as Frank starts screeching and begins to take his shirt off. "Just… leave Frank be. He'll calm down in a minute." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh. Uh." I look apprehensively at Frank, who's still screaming and has managed to get stuck in his shirt. "This happens a lot?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yup. Every time someone asks where he's from, he starts screaming and taking his shirt off." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug. "Fair enough." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the train carriage jerks to the left. Frank tumbles off of the seats and onto the floor, top half off and pulled over his head. Ray just rolls his eyes at him and goes back to his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh - what’s happening?” I hiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chill, dude. The train’s just pulling off, that’s all,” Mikey says. “Finally - God, why did it take so long?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, the train carriage starts to move gently from side to side. I walk shakily over to the window and look out to see the station and mall starting to slide away, out of my vision and back behind the train. People who I guess must be the families of the students are waving goodbye tearily, smaller kids hanging onto parents’ arms. I spot a few people hovering in the air and cheering as well. Close to the end of the platform, a little boy and his mom stand watching the train go by. The boy looks up and catches my eye as we start to pick up speed, and he waves at me, breaking out into a toothy grin. I wave back nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FINALLYYYYYYY,” Frank yells from the floor. “I thought we were never gonna leaaaave.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It did take a bit longer than usual, I guess… hopefully nothing’s gone wrong.” Ray looks expectantly up at the speaker in the corner of the compartment. “There should be an announcement soon enough - at least, that’s what Dad says.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… your dad’s Mr Toro?” I ask as I sit back down next to him. He nods and rolls his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It gets pretty annoying sometimes, since he can only come back during the holidays, and when he’s back, all he talks about is work. But sometimes he has good stories.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask him about the crying statue,” Mikey says in my ear. I jump at the noise, and hiss at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude! Stop sneaking up on me!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank (now with his shirt fully on, thank God) throws a wild punch in the direction of my hissing. It misses, of course. Mikey just laughs and goes back up to the ceiling nook. “Take that, stupid ghost brother!” Frank cries. “Leave Gerard alone!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ya missed,” I say quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever. Still felt good, though.” He looks rather proud of himself for some reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh. “Ray, Mikey wants to know what the deal is with the crying lady. He says your dad might know something about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sure! That’s kinda the only good story he has, to be honest.” Ray grins, putting his phone down beside him. Frank flops down on the floor and shouts ‘STORYTIME, BITCHES!’, met with copious amounts of eye-rolling from Ray. I lean in, interested. “You mean the portal lady, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, her. Well, technically her name’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dominae Nostrae Sunt Dolorum</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but that’s a bit of a mouthful. It means -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our Lady of Sorrows, right?” I butt in. “I took Latin at prep school.” It really helped with understanding the spells and stuff I had to know for SATs, as well. Ray looks quite impressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah. Anyway, the crying lady statue has a shitload of local folklore and mythology surrounding it. Some say she was betrayed hundreds of years ago, and it broke her heart so much she turned to stone. Others say she’s been waiting for her love to return for so long she’s forgotten how to move, and now she guards the way to the Ninth Realms for all travellers to pass by.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what’s the Ninth Realm?” Frank asks from the floor. “I mean, I know what it is, but -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the Ninth Realm.” Ray points out of the window. The only thing I can see out there is a thick layer of fog and mist obscuring my vision. “Didn’t you read your induction leaflets? Odiosis is in another realm to Earth. It stops people breaking in so much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, we’re in another realm? And we have induction leaflets?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and you should have, anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I fumble in my pockets, although I’m pretty sure I never had a leaflet of any sort. I thought we left them behind, since now people can just project their ideas into other people’s brains directly. But, sure enough, I find a folded piece of paper in there. “Huh,” I mutter as I pull out a picture of a magnificent castle with towering spires. The words </span>
  <em>
    <span>Odiosis Academy </span>
  </em>
  <span>are scrawled elegantly underneath it in gilded gold lettering. “Nice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway. Crying lady.” Ray clears his throat. “So, you know there are many legends and takes surrounding her existence, right? The weird thing about her is that there aren’t any official records of her existence. All portals have to be registered before they can be used privately or commercially, so it’s kinda weird that this statue has never been recorded as having any magical properties. Not unheard of, though. But either way, no-one really knows where she comes from, not even the school founders. Even they just stumbled across her in the area they were planning to build a new school, and they came across the Ninth Realm totally by accident.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weird…” Frank says. “So, basically, the crying lady is a super mysterious figure who no-one knew existed until, like, twenty years ago, and is </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>a gateway to another realm, and - well, no-one’s trying to find out where she came from, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… now you put it like that, it is a bit weird.” Ray shrugs. “Wherever she came from, she’s here now, and she’s the only reason we can go to Odiosis. So just chill out about her. Doesn’t really matter. We still have, like, three hours until we actually get to the school, so if you spend all your time thinking about that, it’s gonna go really slow. I promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“THREE HOURS?! That’s - wait, is that a long time?” Frank hisses at me. “I don’t really get time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in the grand scheme of things, no,” Ray sighs, “but to you it probably is. It’s longer than </span>
  <em>
    <span>End Game</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“UUUUUUUGH. I’m bored already.” He flops face-first onto the floor. “There’s nothing to dooooooo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could get dressed?” I offer. “And - uh, Ray, can we go out of the compartment?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you could look around the train, I guess? Prolly won’t take up three hours, but… anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up at me with wide eyes. “No. I’m not leaving this compartment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because Brendon Urie exists.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Urie went to our school,” Ray explains. “He’s a total asshole, and he hates Frank.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I hate him! I hated him before he hated me, you know. I hated him first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he really that -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep. He’s really that bad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is gonna be a long three hours. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Pete’s Here Now, Yay (Also Timey Wimey Stuff Happens and Brendon's an Asshole)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>They're still on the sodding train. I know. I'm sorry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Ray. Raaaay. RAY!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray looks up from his phone. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>booooored</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Frank groans, lying spread-eagled on the train floor. “Wanna play a game? Or eat food? I could eat food. I’m eating food. Sorry if you wanted to play a game. Food isn’t boring. Food’s the opposite of boring.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that changed quickly. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I roll my eyes at him and stand up, reaching to get my suitcase from the rack. It’s been about two hours since the train left - only an hour to go. I haven’t left the compartment yet (even though I’m literally peeing my pants) and my legs are starting to cramp up. Frank’s taking up all the floor space, so all I can do is kick my leg a tiny bit and wince as the feeling starts to come back to my toes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grunt a little as I grab the suitcase and swing it down from the rack. “Frank, move, else I’ll drop this on your balls by accident,” I say. Jeez, this is heavier than I remember… Frank obilges and stands up, going to get his own case from the rack. I drop my luggage on the floor and go to open it, but before I can, a hand on my shoulder stops me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn to see Ray looking at me calmly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t open it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he mouths. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not now, anyway. Not while Frank’s here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn, either he’s good at mouthing words or I’m good at lip reading. But wait - Frank can hear -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God damn, guys, did you pull a mental block on me?” Frank sighs as he yanks his case open. I look back up at Ray and he winks. “When’d you learn to do that? Now it’s quiet, ugh - and what’re you trying to hide? Bitch…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calm down, dude,” Ray says, not looking away from my locked trunk. “I don’t know how to mental block. Must be Gerard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank turns to look at me accusingly, holding a brown-wrapped sandwich in his hand. “Bitch. Are you blocking me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh - no, I don’t think so - I wouldn’t know how -” I say. “And - uh, I gotta pee - be back in a sec - Ray, where’s the toilets?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He points down the corridor to the front of the train, but before I can heave the bag off the floor and walk out of the compartment, Frank grabs my arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch out for Urie when you’re out there. You’ll know him when you see him - big forehead, smiles too much. And if someone’s beating up someone else, then you can bet that the guy beating someone up is Beebo. He’s a nasty piece of work.” In that second, Frank looks less like a sixteen-year-old boy (with the mind of a three-year-old, I might add) and more like a war-torn veteran slamming a drink down at the bar. “Be careful out there, dude.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I'm just peeing. S’not like I’m going into battle, is it?” I laugh nervously as I see both of their faces. Even Ray looks apprehensive. “Right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say, man. Whatever you say. But don’t engage if he’s out there - promise?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh - I promise.” And then I realise that I am, in fact, about five seconds away from peeing my pants. And that I need to go to the toilet right damn now, and - well, stop thought tracking, because that just wastes time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slam the door open, bag bashing the frame, and start running as fast as I can without wetting myself to where Ray pointed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>--- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I run down the train, I notice more and more compartments of people, just laughing, chatting, eating lunch. Of course, I’m more preoccupied with peeing, so I don’t look too hard - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, lo and behold, the great Gerard Way runs into someone. Brilliant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry -” I say hurriedly. “Can I - please just get past -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The someone moves out of the way without saying a word, their dark blue robes flaring out as they step to the side. They must be a space manipulator with robes like those.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you -” I don’t even look at them, just keep racing down to the other end of the train. I guess our compartment was at the very front of it, so it has to - ugh, it’s gonna take a long time. I’m probably - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need a hand?” a vaguely familiar voice asks me. I stop running and look around - wait, what? I haven’t moved… damn it. The space guy must have done something to me. Sure enough, when I try to take a step forward, I move - and then flip right back to where I was before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y - yeah -” I say, looking up - no, wait, down - at the space guy. “Wait -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard Way, right?” the kid from the back of necromancy class asks as he moves his hands in twisting shapes. “I went to your prep school. Pete Wentz.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world goes black for a second, but when it fades, I find that I’m able to step forward again. “You - you went to necromancy, right? And you were friends with that guy - the hat guy -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patrick, yeah,” Pete says. “He’s here too, actually. Sorry about the loop thing - I didn’t mean to, just happens a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well - uh, nice to see you - but I have to go - cause I don’t wanna pee on you - wait, too much info - whatever - I mean - I’m in the last compartment - I mean, I will be - so if you -like, if you want to talk or catch up or whatever - then you can - I dunno - bye -” I say quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye,” Pete calls as I start running away again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh. Weird running into him again, after all this time. Specially after I left prep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>--- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The toilet door is locked. My suitcase is on the floor. I’m probably about to open it. I’m kinda scared, though - and hella confused. Like, why did Ray not want Frank to see what’s inside? And how did he do the weird mental block thing? Whatever. Stop asking questions and just open the bloody thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I squat down and flick the catches open to reveal… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” I say out loud. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing in the bag that wasn’t there before is a book titled </span>
  <em>
    <span>Danger Days</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The cover is torn and the book itself looks well read. I take it out gingerly and look closer - the cover art is a picture of four figures standing in the desert. I can’t make out any face details, though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What? And how did Ray know this was -</span>
  </em>
  <span> oh, right. He’s a seer. Makes sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn the book over to look at the blurb. The colours are faded and the writing is nearly illegible, but I can make most of it out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look Alive, Sunshine</span>
  </em>
  <span> is printed in massive letters at the top of the back cover, and underneath, it goes on about pigs and rock and roll and whatever. This makes no sense - why would Ray not want Frank to see it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The author on the spine just says </span>
  <em>
    <span>Party Poison</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Must be a pseudonym - I mean, if you had a kid, why would you call them ‘Party Poison’? That’s just a bit weird, isn’t it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I open the book and a note falls out into my case, resting on top of my compacted staff. I pick it up and scan the scrawling handwriting. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To Ghoulie, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, I did it! I finally got this thing published! Thank you so much for helping me through all of it - I wouldn’t be here to write this without you. I’ve always been the one with the big dreams, but you’ve always been the one who made them happen. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not to sound like a broken record, but thank you so much. Kobra says thanks, too - he’s out of town for now, but he says he’ll be back soon, and that you better have some proper food next time he comes to visit. And I agree, honestly - that weird roast thing was horrid last time. Please fix your oven. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway - I better keep this short. I have to go visit mom in a minute - she’s not doing so good. But, once again, I owe everything I have to you. Thank you for being there. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Love always,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Party xxx </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PS how’s Pansy? Did you get her fixed up? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The note falls from my hand. I’m so confused - who’s Ghoulie? And why - yet again -  did Ray not want Frank to see this? And how did he get it into my bag in the first place? And why did he even want </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>to see this, anyway? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ugh. I close the book and fold the note back up, leaving it inside the front cover. Something tells me I should hide the book, for some reason, so I pull my scarf out of the bag and wrap it up before shoving it in the bottom of my bag. I stand up, head whirling, and pick up the luggage again before unlocking the door and stepping back into the main train. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Weird. I’m really confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So then he just started </span>
  <em>
    <span>running</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Like - so I had to chase him, obviously, and cause Ryan was there we got super fast - and then he started dancing once I caught up! It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>hilarious</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dude, you should have been there. Probably the best use of my powers I’ve -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A group of boys are up ahead, blocking the way back to my compartment. One of them is staring at me, his burgundy and grey robes indicating - oh shit. A blood magician.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright?” the blood magician says to me, smiling widely and fakely. And he has a rather large forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh shit times </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This guy has to be Brendon Urie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh - I -” I say, walking up to them. “Can I get past -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, sure,” Urie says, moving back into the compartment. I breathe out thankfully and - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the guy Iero was with,” someone else says as I pass by them. “And Toro. End compartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I start walking away faster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bloody necromancers… well, I guess we’ll have to -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then I just start running away, my bag bouncing by my side. Frank said ‘don’t engage’, so that’s what I’m doing. Not engaging. Not with that guy, anyway. He seems like an ass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I reach the compartment again and dart inside, breathless. “Welp - that was Brendon Urie,” I announce. “And Ray -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up? Please?” Ray asks me before I can go on. I look around properly and see Pete sitting there, and another guy dressed in the signature white and blue robes of hydromancers. I guess that’s Patrick - I recognise him, kind of. “Gerard?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank looks at me. “I told you he was an ass. You ran away? Good on you. And you </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>have that bloody mind block. Ugh. Whatever. Hi! You didn’t get hit by him! That’s a surprise! Good on you! And these guys say they know you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slump down in the tiny amount of space left in the compartment. “Yeah. We used to go to school together. That’s Pete.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Ray looks at me pointedly. “Can we talk?” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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